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Kindle Edition
First published November 7, 2016
“The woman kneeling between Mr. Langford’s legs. What was she doing?”Two pages later:
Marcus lowered his hands and sat up straight. “Uh . . . she was . . . er, she was playing his pipe.”
Albin’s face creased with confusion. “What?” “Playing his pipe. His silent flute.” And then, since the lad clearly didn’t understand, he gestured to his own groin. “His virile member.”
Albin said: “So what was she doing, sir? The whore? Was she trying to play music on Langford’s cock?”Not long ago I criticised Elizabeth Hoyt’s Duke of Pleasure for letting the disguise going on for too long, thus hampering the romance, making it hard to believe that the hero could develop feelings. And although I stand by my dislike of the fake-identity-trope for that very reason, Unmasking Miss Appleby handled it more eloquently, drawing Charlotte’s – quite literally – growing attraction for Marcus into the equation, and letting Marcus meet the real Charlotte.
His brain gave him a ludicrous image of the whore blowing on Phillip’s penis and producing a tune. Marcus blinked. Albin didn’t really think—
He turned his head and stared at Albin.
Albin stared earnestly back at him.
He did think it.
Laughter bubbled up from Marcus’s chest and spilled out of his mouth. He tried to gulp it back, but it was unstoppable.
Cosgrove reached out and tugged the knot, straightening it, tightening it. His knuckles brushed the underside of her chin. The blush flamed hotter in Charlotte’s cheeks. Alarm lurched through her. Was it going to stiffen? Now, of all times?And how will I ever forget 'beard splitter'?
I wish to have a soft pego, she said frantically in her head.
Magic itched at her groin. Her pego stopped stirring.


“She wished Swiffen’s Cyclopaedia had an entry on the pego, explaining its peculiarities. Why was it so stiff when she woke in the mornings? How could something so soft become so hard? And what did one do to control it? Using her Faerie gift to wish it limp again worked, but she’d never seen a man walking around with his pego tenting his breeches, so there must be a way of controlling it that didn’t involve magic.
Unless there was something wrong with hers?”

”…Albin said: “So what was she doing, sir? The whore? Was she trying to play music on Langford’s cock?”
His brain gave him a ludicrous image of the whore blowing on Phillip’s penis and producing a tune. Marcus blinked. Albin didn’t really think—
He turned his head and stared at Albin.
Albin stared earnestly back at him.
He did think it.”
“...A sheath? Dried sheep’s intestines? Charlotte managed not to pull a face.”


